Shadowlands
by Strict31
Summary: A companion piece to Prodigal, telling the story of Zaalbar's first encounter with the woman once know as Darth Revan.


Shadowlands

Sometimes, when his eyes were closed and he sat very still, he could hear the wind rattling the trees, dancing through the leaves, and shaking the branches. Sometimes, he could feel the thick warmth of the air embracing him like a lover. And if he imagined, he could hear the chatter of tree-borne creatures, squealing at his passage, snarling over food, hissing at the distant threat of a predator stalking the forest.

But then, he would open his eyes, and he would see no trees.

Taris was a place of the dead. Where corpses walked long after their hearts had been clawed from their chests, where the skeletons of trees had turned into titans of crystallized bone, and soared above the skies. The air stank of the dead and the dying. Not the vibrant scent of lives lived in nature's desperate hours, but rather the sickly stench of creatures for whom life was just a collection of painful days.

He'd hated it as soon as he'd stepped off the transport weeks ago. It was a decaying place, like a grove of trees that had been choked by the vampiric Varnyskyyyr weed, leaving only a diseased web of withered vines, like a hut of the dead. But Zaalbar had been given no choice. He'd been taken as far as his work aboard the freighter would allow. The crew that operated the_ Flicker_ had no further use for a laborer not associated with a guild. And Zaalbar had not even known of guilds and such before he'd left Kashyyyk. He'd worked for his fare, and Taris was as far as they would take him.

So, when he'd stepped off the ramp of the _Flicker_ with little more than the fur on his back, the only path that lay before him twisted into the depths of Taris.

After three weeks of trying to find a job, and being thrust among hairless beasts who could barely speak a civilized tongue, Zaalbar dropped where he stood, hanging his shaggy head in despair and shame. His claws reflexively tapped against his brow, and he cursed them. Cursed himself as a madclaw. No one seemed to care about a massive Wookiee sitting and moaning softly against the wall of a Low City corridor. Aliens of every flavor just swept past in their daily rush of commerce. Zaalbar saw no other Wookiees at all among them. Only aliens.

Some huddled on the ground as he did, but gathered around firepits rigged from rusted cargo cylinders, warming their hands or roasting hullrats for a stringy, greasy meal. Others held out their tentacles, begging for alms.

Shame filled him again. He was Zaalbar, who had hunted the Shadowlands, and killed the monsters that ruled those dark reaches with the sword of his fathers. This place was just another Shadowland, untouched by the sun. And he had never faced the dark sitting down, whimpering like a pup.

But he had also never bared claw against his own blood. That he could do such a thing, an act of wildness, of the rage of ancient days, before Wookiees learned the path of Fire, and had written words with their claws instead of killing…did that not make him no more than the beasts his people hunted for food? A thing. Something with no soul to be welcomed to the Great Hearth.

Why should he stand? Why should he struggle to survive? There was nothing for him, not in the AfterWorlds, and certainly not in this barbaric den of filth and death.

But a cry of distress caused his ears to perk beneath his mane. And his eyes flicked towards the source: a small Rodian child, one who had not yet gone through his first molt, being kicked and abused by…

By the Dosh!

Zaalbar felt his upper lip curling past his fangs, and felt a rumble of anger rising from a deep ancestral lair within his belly as he saw them. Their pale yellow scales slick and shiny in the dull lifeless light. Tiny black eyes swiveling beneath hooded, bony brows. Heavy clawed hands flexing with the anticipation of a kill.

Trandoshans…here?

Before he could contain himself, Zaalbar surged to his feet with a roar of challenge. Two of the Trandoshans glanced up at him, their ear-ridges flexing at the call of an instinctual threat.

"Wookiee!" one of them spat in their hissing, slithering tongue. All five of them glared hatefully at him, forgetting the Rodian boy they'd been tormenting.

Suddenly, Zaalbar realized he had no other branches to swing from. There was no turning away from them. He snarled and dropped into a fighting stance he'd learned as a whelp, the Root of Might, unyielding and solid, and watched them as they advanced on him.

"Fur-faced sssscum," one of them whispered hotly, curling his claws eagerly at his sides. "Perhapsss you would offer your life for the Sssport, Wookiee?"

"A Wookiee will bring usss great wealth, ssshould we sssell it," another pointed out. "More than a grubling of a Rodian."

Zaalbar's eyes narrowed and he released a chuckle. He growled defiantly, beckoning the creatures forward. And with a harsh bark, he spat forth an observation about their resemblance to the southern end of a northbound serpent.

Their scales bristled at the insult, proving they could understand Shryiiwook. Very few beings on this world of towers could. One of the smaller Dosh failed to resist his taunt. He shivered with rage and hurled himself at Zaalbar, hissing and spitting.

Zaalbar caught him in his mighty arms and used his momentum to swing the Doshan around. Then, he slammed the creature face first onto the ground. Zaalbar kept his gaze on the other four even as he grabbed the Trandoshan by the scruff of his neck. Zaalbar hooked his other paw into the Dosh's belt and lifted him high into the air. Then, falling to one knee, he dropped the Trandoshan down hard on his other knee, snapping its spine.

Zaalbar rose into another fighting posture, Withering Branch, and tossed the quivering Doshan aside. He beckoned the others forward, but they were older…smarter. They did not rush forward like fools, but instead, maneuvered around him, in a circle. Typical Dosh cowards…

They moved slowly around him, hissing, baring their razor teeth. One would lunge forward experimentally, to draw him into a hasty attack, but Zaalbar ignored this tactic; knew that another would merely zoom in from behind to strike at his back. This was how the Trandoshans hunted. Feints and misdirection.

Instead of taking the bait they offered with their feints, Zaalbar focused on sniffing out the leader. The dominant one. He'd be the one stinking of Doshan pheromones. Ripe with musk to establish dominance over the others. He would be the one to land the killing blow…if it came.

Zaalbar's nose twitched at the bitter acrid stink of Trandoshan musk, and he moved in a blur of dark fur, lashing out with his long gangly arms, corded with muscle. He clubbed the leader against the jaw with a massive fist, hurling the Dosh to the ground.

The other three dashed in wildly as their leader fell, and Zaalbar whipped around again, flailing his arms like heavy branches whipping in a storm-wind. His fists slammed into scaled bodies, crushing and splintering bone. The Trandoshans fell back, shrieking from their injuries, and Zaalbar returned his attention to the leader, already scrambling back to his feet. Zaalbar released a thundering howl and pounced on the Dosh, gripping the sides of his skull tightly.

The Doshan leader's black eyes bulged and he hammered his taloned forearms against Zaalbar's chest. Zaalbar let the blows slide off his furred body and opened his mouth wide to let the Dosh see every inch of his fangs. He forced the leader down to his knees and threw his head back to release a booming roar. He lifted his paws up and slammed them down across the Dosh's shoulders, shattering his clavicle, dropping him into a screaming pile of yellow meat.

Seeing their leader pounded into pulp, the other Trandoshans scampered away from Zaalbar, glaring at him with eyes wild with fear and anger. Zaalbar snatched one by the leg and whipped him into a wall.

He stared down at the motionless Doshan and whuffed in satisfaction. Then, he glanced around at the crowd of aliens that gathered at a discreet distance to bear witness to his fury, and he blew out a gust of wind from between his lips; snorting to clear his nose of Trandoshan stink. He paused for a moment to stare back at those staring at him, and he barked sharply, sending them scurrying on their way.

After a bit, Zaalbar turned his attention to the Rodian child, and knelt over the boy. Zaalbar cocked his head to the side and grunted softly as he checked the boy's injuries. The child did not respond to his questions, and Zaalbar realized he could not understand Shryiiwook at all.

The Wookiee sighed and made sure to cover his teeth with his lips as he spoke, to keep the boy from recoiling in fear. Gently, he stroked the child's scaled brow and helped him to his feet. The little Rodian cried and shuddered, but he allowed Zaalbar to take him by his hand. Zaalbar used his thickly padded thumbs to wipe away the child's tears.

The child sniffled, and began stammering in his own tongue, which Zaalbar couldn't decipher in the slightest. He inhaled the boy's scent, through both mouth and nose however, and the scent spoke of the child's pounding heart and pulsing adrenalin. There was also a tinge of desperation in his smell, and Zaalbar figured the boy wanted to be returned to his parents. Zaalbar patted the child gently on the shoulder and rose to his feet. He glanced around, wondering which way he should go to try and find the boy's parents. He knew his scent, and determined that would be the best place to start.

"Fali?" a human voice called out. "Are you uninjured, child?"

Zaalbar turned to see a wrinkle-faced human addressing the child. He bared his fangs and a growl rumbled forth from his broad chest, warning the smooth-skin to keep his distance.

The human glanced up at Zaalbar and held up his hands. "You've no reason to fear me, my friend," the human said. "I saw what you did for the lad. If I'd been blessed with your prodigious might, I might have stepped in to his defense as well. But I am nothing more than a humble old man. I know Fali's mother will be grateful for your intervention."

Zaalbar snorted, unimpressed. With a series of barks, he asked the human if he understood Shryiiwook. The man nodded.

"I have picked up a little, over the years…"

Zaalbar sighed and nodded. He grunted and growled, asking if the man could direct him to the child's home.

"Well, to be honest, he and his mother have no home," the human said. "As is the case, unfortunately for most here in Low City."

The boy chattered nervously and Zaalbar cocked his head, wondering what in the world he could be saying.

"He's grateful for your help," the man assured Zaalbar. "He's…he's saying he will be fine on his own."

Zaalbar shook his head and pointed to one of the fallen Trandoshans.

"I should think you've scared them off rather effectively," the human said. "Those bullying wretches will be more concerned with licking their wounds than harming Fali."

Fali smiled up at Zaalbar and wiped his tears away with another sniffle. Zaalbar would have smiled if he could, but it was an odd expression to him. Bared too many teeth. But most aliens seemed to take it as a pleasant gesture. Instead, he nodded and released the child's hand. Fali chattered at him some more and then dashed off down the corridor. Zaalbar watched him go with his head still cocked to the side.

Then, he returned his gaze back to the human.

"Ah," the man said after listening to a string of grunts and whuffs. "My name is Ghirda. And you are…? _Zhaahlbaaaahhhrrrr…_? Oh, Zaalbar. Forgive my pronunciation. You are new to Low City, I take it? It is rare indeed to see your people on this side of the galaxy, my friend. Usually, the only Wookiees to come through here are…unfortunately…slaves sold by Czerka--"

Zaalbar pulled his lips back across his teeth and snarled furiously.

"Uh, yes…I understand. They are a menace. But I'm afraid such commerce is encouraged on Taris. Mainly by the Hutts who still have a firm grasp on, er…_business_ in the sector. But you handled yourself well against those Trandoshan thugs."

Zaalbar shrugged.

"I certainly do not mean to pry into your affairs, of course, but I must inquire…are you in need of employment?"

Zaalbar growled dubiously at him.

"No, no…the reason I ask…well, you probably don't realize it since you're new to the city, but it is rather a challenge for offworlders such as yourself to find gainful employment. Many people here on Taris have a…they have an uncharitable view of non-humans, you see. That's why there is so much poverty here…Hmm? Well, I work for an individual named Ro. He runs a small materials engineering company Upside…He does his best to provide job opportunities to aliens who need the work. As such, I come to Low City whenever he needs new help."

Zaalbar mulled the human's words over carefully. He would need work and food in his belly. He grunted a question down at Ghirda.

"Well, I won't lie to you, sir, it is hard labor. But it's honest work. And they pay is good enough to cover living expenses. Would you be interested?"

Zaalbar nodded and issued a low, soft howl.

"Well, immediately, actually." He withdrew a holo-card and passed it over.

Zaalbar took it in his huge paw and stared at it. He still had some trouble reading the scrawlings of Basic, but was able to make out _Ro Construction_.

"I should tell you…well…legally, Taris requires aliens to have visa paperwork to qualify for work, but the process is so hampered by bureaucracy that it discourages most from going through it. Mr. Ro has no such…compunctions. To him, a sentient who is willing to work is a sentient willing to work. Doesn't make him popular in the eyes of the labor committee officials, however."

Zaalbar shook his head in confusion.

"Well, workers from Low City have to be transported to the worksite. In subsector 315, there's an unused apartment bloc. Just past the South Bend Cross-junction. Be there at midnight, and you'll have all the work you can handle, if you're interested."

Zaalbar's brow wrinkled beneath his fur as he pondered Ghirda's words. He did need the work, after all. And no one else seemed willing to give him any opportunities. He finally nodded with a bark.

"Excellent. There will be about twenty others there as well, so you won't be alone, my friend. Good luck."

Zaalbar grunted sourly, thinking that the human reliance on chance and probability had never seemed to serve him well in the past. But perhaps that was about to change.

* * *

Calo Nord felt himself growing bored as the Mandalorian droned on and on about fields of fire and covering paths of entry. He rested atop a crate, adjusting the sights on one of his blasters as Canderous Ordo railed orders in his gravel-filled voice at the new meat. They were meat because they were just low grade scum recruited from the ranks of the desperate; thugs who'd graduated from whatever hellholes out of which they'd clawed their way. Davik Kang's main headhunter, Ordo, had slapped some cheap, off-market blasters into their hands, and was now making sure the idiots would stay alive long enough to be of some use.

Calo didn't need to hear this. He grew restless with the waiting and the talking. They had been given orders by Kang to drop some punks and to make it bloody, and that's what Calo did best.

Glancing at Ordo, Calo wondered why the Mandalorian even bothered. These nobs would be wasted meat before long anyway. They never seemed to last long in Low City. It wasn't the healthiest of working environments, after all. Calo finished adjusting his sights and holstered the sidearm. He folded his arms over his chest and sighed loudly, glaring at Canderous behind his dark goggles.

The Mandalorian was sheathed head to toe in some sort of ceremonial armor or some such. Calo reckoned that the Mandies were big on ritual and so forth, but he'd never had much use for armor himself. A good triggerman didn't need it. Probably just for show, anyway. But it did a good job in that regard. Battered and beaten though it was, the silver and blue armor intimidated the no-lifers crowded into the tiny storage hold with them. And when Canderous had his helmet on, with that impassive "T" shaped visor…well, Calo had to hand it to the man; certainly made a stylish killer.

"You feel you have something to add, Calo?" Canderous grated sourly, turning his icy blue eyes upon him.

"Who me?" Calo growled. "Nah. I'm just waiting for the fun to start, Canderous."

Canderous dismissed his words with a snort, and Calo was filled with an urge to jam a fist down the Mandalorian's throat. One day, perhaps very soon, he'd rip that smug look right off Ordo's craggy face.

"What are we waitin' for anyways?" one of the mooks grunted, looking around and trying to hide his nervousness beneath a mask of steel edges.

"Some bint," another one responded. "One of Kang's whores."

"That's _Mr. _Kang," came a voice like warm honey, cultured and refined. Stilted and smoothed over. Calo glanced around and saw a serpentine figure standing in the hatchway. A lean shape composed of wet shadows and slick black curves. "And, I'd like to hear you say that last word once more, love. But to my face."

Calo chuckled as the woman stepped into the hold. She wore little more than a glistening black Slipsuit, with a gunbelt hanging low on her hips. Calo's eyes ran over her body. He felt his mouth go dry as his gaze strolled across the sharpened planes of her face. Beauty. Cruel. Curt. Abrupt. Such beauty he had not seen in years. Ever since his Myanna, with her glittering eyes and red lips and soft, soft skin.

The woman's dark eyes flashed like pools of water illuminated by a silver moon as she strode up to the mook who'd opened his mouth. Calo bared his teeth in a hungry smile at the way she moved, like one of the sabercats he'd grown up hunting.

"I said 'whore'," the man repeated, looming over her and puffing his broad chest out.

She lifted her chin and reached out to run the back of her gloved hand down his cheek. Her lips parted and drifted close to his face, drawing a smile from the man. His hands slid around her waist and she leaned into him.

And she jabbed her thumb into the soft hollow of nerves beneath his ear with a movement swifter than Calo's eyes could follow.

The mook cried out sharply and staggered backwards flailing his arms wildly to keep his balance. She lunged forward and drove the heel of her palm up under his chin, rocking his skull backwards. He slammed back against the wall and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He spat angrily and reached for his blaster. But her blaster already pressed hard against his throat, freezing him in place.

"That was a very mean thing to say," she whispered, her voice full of sugar and spikes.

Calo grinned at her display and shook his head. He glanced over at Canderous, and saw the man's face pale, his eyes wide, as if in disbelief. The Mandalorian frowned and cupped his chin. Calo could see the gears working behind his frozen glare, and wondered what was going on in his head. Such a curious expression…

But Canderous recovered quickly enough. "You," he addressed the girl. "You're…Lal Sideen?"

She jammed her fist into the trembling mook's groin, dropping him into a moaning heap on the floor, and she turned to face Canderous. She holstered her blaster and reached up to tie her streams of dark brown hair into a tight topknot, clearing errant curls away from her face.

"You're late," Canderous growled.

"Fashionably," she replied.

Calo hopped off the crate and walked over to her. The first thing he did was inhale the scent of her hair. No perfume…but it reminded him of grass freshly cut…of hot breezes stirring the night air deep inside a forest.

She cast a glance at him and folded her arms over her breasts. "See anything you like?"

"Yes," was the best reply Calo could fashion. It was also the first thing that clawed its way from his thoughts. "Who are you supposed to be?"

She grinned lushly at him. "Maybe one day, you'll find out."

"Davik said you'd be joining us," Canderous rumbled. "Let's get something straight, woman. This is my team, and you'll do as I say. I don't care who you are in Davik's office. Here, you follow my lead."

Calo stared at Canderous in confusion. Who in the hell was this woman supposed to be? She looked like a joygirl, but moved like a hitter. Some sort of…assassin, maybe? Calo had heard rumors that Davik had a blade doing wetwork for him. But a woman?

"That's the plan," Lal Sideen told the Mandalorian. "Don't worry, love. I'm not here in any sort of _official_ capacity…"

"Well, I can stop trembling, can't I?" Canderous threw back. He glanced down at the chronometer on his gauntlet and sighed. "Time to go anyway. Move out."

Calo gave this Lal Sideen one last glance as the men shuffled towards the hatchway. She was staring at him, with a crooked grin pressed upon her crimson mouth, her eyes smoldering. He was very suddenly no longer sure he liked the way her eyes shone…so black, so dark…

* * *

When Zaalbar was still but a stripling, his father, Freyyr had decided to descend into the Shadowlands, seeking wisdom in the purification of the Wild Dark. Zaalbar had watched his father climb down the spine of the Shining Tree, and thought he'd never see him again.

His mother had tried to explain to him that Freyyr had been given a vision, that the power he needed to unite the tribes could only be gained by a journey into darkness. Zaalbar hadn't been able to truly understand then. All he'd known was that his father was leaving the dappled sunlight of the High Trees to roam the underworld, where demons and ghosts and monsters ruled.

Even as an adult, Zaalbar still had a fear of the Shadowlands. If Wookiees had been meant to walk in the Wild Dark, the Great Hunter would never have trapped the Sun and chained it to the sky; bringing the light of civilization to the first Wookiee and his mate. Of course, that was just a myth…but it told every Wookiee of the power of light. Light brought sanity to the rage of shadow. It ordered the chaos of shapeless darkness, not only in the world around them, but in the very heart of the Wookiee.

To descend into the deep woods where darkness swallowed all light was to challenge one's own dark heart. To face the Shadowlands within. Zaalbar had grown to understand this challenge over time, learning the stories of the Folk from the Word Bearers of his village. And eventually, as all warriors must, Zaalbar had made his own descent into that deep darkness. He'd learned to stand against his fear, and to master his rage. But still, he'd never understood what his father had learned there, because each Wookiee's journey into the Shadowlands brought different truths.

Now, Zaalbar found himself lost within another Wild Dark. But this one was forged of steel girder and mortar. Stained with rust stinking of rot. The landscape was formed of forgotten towers fallen into disrepair, and the trash of the upper city, discarded down garbage chutes and sewers.

But Zaalbar didn't believe he was meant to learn anything within this Shadowland made by men. He believed it was a prison. Perhaps the only prison suitable for him. If there was any lesson at all to be learned here, it was the lesson of survival.

Subsector 315. It was a giant vault, containing the forgotten, and the discarded. It was a vast terminus of three massive conduits. An ancient cistern that had long ago been drained, but still stank of hot, stagnant water. Now, the curving walls, as tall as mountains had been carved out to form warrens within the stone. Dwellings that honeycombed the walls like the burrows of Lion Ants. But even these dwellings had fallen into disuse. They had been abandoned to refugees and criminals and squatters. They were places where harlots took desperate customers for their business; where drug-addled addicts congregated in packs, sharing their chemical vision-quests in shuddering, moaning heaps.

Zaalbar had no idea what a death stick was, or why anyone would try to sell such a thing to him, but after a snarl that exposed his spear-like teeth, the dealers stopped approaching him. He made his way to his destination, which was a crumbling stack of warrens that required a great deal of audacity to call an "apartment bloc". He had to climb up a mound of shattered rubble to get inside, and once in the curving, twisting halls, he found himself amid more addicts, leaning against the walls, scratching their arms, opening and closing their dried mouths in silent screams.

Eventually, he came into a wide room where other beings sat or stood, waiting for something. He noticed that many of them clutched holo-cards in their tentacles or claws or pincers. Just as he clutched the Ro Construction card in his own shaggy paw.

A being he believed was called a Zabrak edged up to him and nodded his horned head. Pale tattoos formed a faded map on his face and hairless skull. "I take it you're here for the job as well?" the creature asked Zaalbar in Basic. The Wookiee replied with a grunt and a nod. "Hmm. I'll take that as a 'yes', I suppose. I'm afraid I don't speak your language, my friend."

Zaalbar rolled his eyes. Why did every hairless creature in the galaxy seem to think that they could befriend a total stranger with their words and toothy…_smiles_?

"The name is Hanjo," the Zabrak went on. Zaalbar wracked his brain for a means to respond, and finally drew the Basic letter for "Z" in the air before Hanjo. "Z?" Hanjo frowned. "Or…is that what I should call you?"

Zaalbar nodded once and turned away with a sigh. He glanced around the room at all the aliens here. He cocked his head curiously at a lumbering hammer-headed being in the corner, issuing deeply resonating rumbles from two separate mouths at a being that reminded Zaalbar of the Neimoidian Captain of the _Flicker._ A Duros, perhaps? Same huge lidless eyes and tiny mouth. There were several Rodians sitting and chattering together, glancing nervously at the rest. There was even a rusted droid in the corner, leaking dark lubricant from its motivator case.

"A motley bunch if I ever saw one," Hanjo muttered, moving to stand beside Zaalbar. "I suspect we're all in the same boat of course. Stuck on a world with no money. Myself, I'm trying to earn enough cred for a ticket Coreward. A person can make a new life for himself on Coruscant, or…or maybe Kuat. These old worlds like Taris…they're like corpses that don't even know they're dead yet." He stopped talking and glanced up at Zaalbar. "I bet there's about a thousand other places you'd rather be, too, eh?"

Zaalbar wrinkled his nose at the smell of the Zabrak's nervousness. He spoke merely to keep his mind off his anxiety. It was beginning to irritate Zaalbar, but as he thought about it, he couldn't really blame Hanjo. Zaalbar was feeling a bit anxious himself.

He walked around and cocked his head to the side pensively. Something about this situation didn't feel right. It was like…almost like driving Tachs into a hollow, to confine them…to corral them…

Instinctively, he took a whiff of the air, and found it still and dank, like the air of the forest, when all the animals fall silent as a predator stalks them. A pregnant silence. Suddenly, Zaalbar wanted to be out of that room.

He snarled angrily, furious at his own stupidity and grabbed Hanjo by the shoulder. The Zabrak gasped in surprise as Zaalbar started hauling him towards the door.

But a massive figure blocked the exit. A squat blob of grunting meat and muscle. It glared up at Zaalbar with tiny pink eyes hooded beneath a heavy brow. It parted its thick lips, revealing crooked upturned tusks beneath a wet snout. Zaalbar bared his fangs and roared defiantly. Unimpressed, the creature lifted a shock baton and thrust it into Zaalbar's belly.

White light flooded Zaalbar's eyes. A cold, sharp wind slammed into his body, followed by a crushing heat that clenched his muscles. His head spun and the floor beneath him melted away.

When Zaalbar could see again, he was on his back, and the piggish brute loomed over him with a squealing chuckle. He could see other pig-faces lumbering past, putting their shock sticks to work on those gathered in the room like a pack of Tachs, awaiting the slaughter.

Zaalbar's eyes flared in rage and he kicked out at his attacker's trunk-like legs. He heard a crack as his foot hammered into the thing's knee. It screeched in pain and collapsed. Zaalbar sat up and snatched the brute's face in his paws. Then he hauled it close to his face and squeezed.

After a few moments, the pig-thing's struggles and squealing stopped, and it fell limp in Zaalbar's grasp. He shoved its massive body off of him, and tried to stand. Hanjo was at his side, eyes wide with fear, struggling to help Zaalbar up.

"Gammoreans!" Hanjo cried, glancing around desperately. "We have to get out of here! They're monsters! Slavers!"

Slavers…

Zaalbar staggered upright, his head still spinning. He saw his brother suddenly, standing in the doorway, pale golden fur glistening in the dead light, standing side by side with humans in green uniforms, with guns.

And nets.

Slavers…

Zaalbar blinked his eyes rapidly, wondering how Chuundar could possibly be here…but did it matter? A sheet of crimson fire slid over Zaalbar's eyes, and he felt his claws sliding free of their sheaths within his stubby fingers. A howl tore itself from his chest, and he slashed towards Chuundar. He cut a hole through the air and it bled. He clawed his way towards his brother, tearing apart the meat that stood in the way.

But Chuundar wasn't…wasn't there. All Zaalbar could see were humans. Wrapped in shadows and blood, wielding the steel of blasters.

"Stupid pig-boys!" one of the humans laughed wildly. "Shock this walking rug!"

Zaalbar shook his head to clear it, and he launched himself at the human who had spoken. But another lightning strike from a shock stick seared into his back, stabbing into him, burning his fur. He dropped to his knees and cried out in agony. Another bolt hit him, right under his jaw, and he fell backwards.

He glanced over weakly and saw Hanjo struggling as a Gammorean pinned his arms back. "Vulkars!" he hissed. "Damned Vulkars!"

One of the humans looked over at Hanjo and nodded. "Don't need no Zabrak." And he lifted his blaster and burned a bolt of searing energy through Hanjo's skull. The Zabrak crashed to the floor beside Zaalbar, staring at the Wookiee with sightless eyes.

Zaalbar tried to howl, but no sound escaped him.

* * *

The Black Vulkars hustled their prizes out around the back, where they had a speeder truck waiting. The aimed their guns at their captives, the ones who could still walk, and their Gammorean thugs shoved them into the back of the truck. It took two Gammoreans to carry the Wookiee out, who had been stunned so heavily that he was just a furry sack.

"Well, look at this," a voice called out, like stones tumbling down a mountain. "Pretty ambitious scum."

Canderous Ordo stood at the front of the truck in full armor, his grim helmet covering his face. The Vulkars spread out and snapped their weapons up to cover him.

"Thot Sheeda?" Canderous continued, staring at the Vulkars' leader. "That you, boy?"

Sheeda stepped forward, aiming his blaster at Canderous's chest. "Hey, hey…Lookit, this ain't your thing, see?"

"Not my thing?" Canderous grunted.

"Nah. See, this ain't your business. Move on, hey?"

"Well, that's just the problem, Thot," Canderous chuckled. "It isn't my business."

Calo Nord slid from the shadows behind the Vulkars and trained his guns on them. "More to the point," he hissed, "It's not Davik's business. Is it?"

Several Vulkars whipped around nervously. The Gammoreans grunted and snorted, flicking their eyes back and forth between the two men.

"No it isn't," Canderous nodded to Calo. "And when business happens without Davik Kang's approval…"

"Again, more to the point," Calo added, "_participation…"_

"Indeed. Without his approval or participation, Davik gets understandably…upset."

Sheeda shook his head and released a mad grin. "But Davik ain't here. Just you two. We cut you in for a piece. Forget Davik. Quick money for you, hey?"

"Dead men can't make their payments," Calo said.

"Whachoo talkin'?" Sheeda spat. "Hell! Be better to drop you right now. Both at the same time. All you be is two. We got numbers. You got nothing. You take the deal and cut out, hey? Better for you cuz you live longer. No? We cut you down."

"I was right," Canderous told Calo. "Didn't I tell you this was ambitious scum?"

Calo simply grunted.

"Thot," Canderous sighed, "There isn't going to be any deal. You know where you are. And you know the rules."

"Rule? Ain't no rule. We be Vulkars! We take what we want!"

Calo whispered hotly, "One."

Sheeda glanced at him in confusion. "Huh?"

"Two."

"Why you countin'?"

"Three." Calo dropped to one knee and opened up with both blasters, pouring his shots into Sheeda's belly. The Vulkar's chest exploded in a gout of fire and he fell back against the side of the truck.

The rest of the Vulkars opened up on them. Canderous rolled around the front of the truck, keeping it between him and the Vulkars, while Calo rolled to the left, behind a pile of rubble. He ducked low as a brace of shots hammered into his cover. "Any time, you idiots," he grunted under his breath.

And then, the rest of Canderous's men swung around the corner of the building, laying down a blaze of blaster-fire. Several more Vulkars went down beneath the storm of laser bolts. But the rest returned fire, taking their focus from Calo.

He rose to his feet and began snapping off shots from the hip, aiming casually, but surgically. He burned two Vulkars to the pavement, and aimed at another, when a great green fist slammed into his jaw hurling him from his feet.

A Gammorean roared over him, and slammed his fists down at Calo's head. Desperately, Calo unleashed his blasters on the Gammorean, stitching a line of burning holes into the creature's swollen belly. It howled and staggered backwards from the shots, but didn't fall. Instead, it reached down and snatched Calo up by his throat.

Calo emptied his blasters into the Gammorean's chest, and it spat blood from its lips. But the vice grip on his throat crushed the air from his body. Spots swarmed before his eyes, and he continued to stroke the triggers on his weapons, but both guns were dry.

Then, from the corner of his eyes, he saw the glistening black shadow that was Lal Sideen, moving like a ghost, slow and silent, up to the Gammorean. She put a blaster to the side of its head, and it glanced at her with a grunt of surprise.

She stroked the trigger and the Gammorean fell. On top of Calo. He cried out as its weight slammed down upon him, and struggled to get clear of its dead bulk.

"Headshots," she cautioned him, wagging her finger like he was a child. "Anything less, and that'll be the story of you, love."

She peered down at him with that crooked grin of hers, and Calo felt the urge to wipe it from her lips. Instead, he just glared at her as he crawled free of the dead pig-face, and reloaded his blasters.

Lal swept away from Calo, and proceeded to demonstrate. With casual grace and skill, she placed blasts into the faces of the Gammoreans loading slaves into the truck.

Calo shoved his ego aside and scrambled to his feet to join her in the killing. Lal stopped before two Gammoreans standing over the Wookiee, who was now awake and struggling against the cuffs clamped on his wrists. One of the pig-faces swung a shock stick at Lal, but she ducked beneath it by dropping to one knee. She thrust one of her blasters up into the Gammorean's crotch and fired.

It screamed and tumbled backwards. Lal rolled forwards and surged to her feet, jabbing both blasters into the rolls of blubber under the last Gammorean's chin. Its little eyes widened, as she locked her gaze upon them.

"Slavers," she whispered to the Gammorean. And squeezed both triggers. As the Gammorean's body slammed to the ground, Calo stood beside her and glanced down at the corpses she'd left smoking around her.

"That wasn't a head-shot," he told her, gesturing at the one she'd shot in the groin.

Lal arched an eyebrow and shrugged. "On males, it's usually close enough."

Calo gazed at her and felt a deep stirring inside of him, a war of desires. To grab her and press his body against hers, to make her _belong_ to him; and to stamp the imprint of his fist upon her lovely mouth, breaking her into pretty little pieces as he did with…

"Status!" Canderous called out to them.

"Clear," Lal responded.

"Clear enough," Calo grunted, as Lal knelt over the Wookiee.

Canderous and the others joined them at the back of the speeder truck, and the Mandalorian peered inside at the captives the Vulkars had taken. He sighed and glanced down at Lal.

"Stop your struggling, you stupid carpet," Lal snapped at the growling Wookiee, trying to get at the mechanism on his manacles. "You'll be out of those in a moment."

"I'd be inclined to say it was their lucky day," Canderous grunted. "But luck does not thrive in Low City." He nodded to his men and stood aside, staring at Lal curiously.

His thugs hefted their guns and stood at the back of the truck as the captives within begged to be released.

And they took aim.

Lal's head snapped up at the sudden scream of blaster-fire. Canderous continued to watch her, and Calo leaned against the side of the truck, adjusting his blaster sights once more.

"They _were_ lucky," Calo said in a whisper as cold as a grave. "They are now immune to pain, suffering. Never again will they feel longing…or loss. And if there are any great cosmic answers to the universe, they just learned them."

"How poetic," Lal snarled at him, continuing to fumble with the Wookiee's cuffs.

"Davik's orders were clear," Canderous shrugged. "No survivors. He wants to send a clear message to anyone who would defy his law."

"I'll do it," Calo said, stepping forward to aim his blasters at the Wookiee. "Never killed a Wookiee before. I suppose a headshot will suffice?"

The Wookiee howled with savage, helpless desperation as the twin barrels fell in line with his piercing blue gaze.

Lal narrowed her dark eyes at Calo, and she shrugged, rising to her feet. Calo moved closer to the Wookiee, stepping past Lal. As he did, she whipped around and grabbed his wrist with one hand, and slammed her other elbow against his. She twisted her body sharply, and he gasped as his arm snapped. She continued to spin around and hurled him over her hip, smashing him to the ground.

Calo's eyes bulged behind his goggles and he gripped his broken arm with a howl of pain. Lal stood over him and glared coldly down at him. She turned her cold stare to Canderous and said, "Message sent…I should think."

"Sideen," Canderous began.

"How can a message be sent unless someone remains to relay it?" she went on. Canderous weighed her words with a scowl, and finally nodded.

"Alright you half-witted fools, let's pack it up and move," Canderous told his men.

Calo gritted his teeth together and struggled up to one knee as Lal finally unlocked the Wookiee's cuffs. Calo glared at her as the Wookiee surged to his feet and roared down at him with flashing eyes and flashing teeth. But Calo didn't care about that…

Lal Sideen looked up at the Wookiee and said something Calo couldn't hear. The Wookiee leaned his head to the side and unleashed a rumbling storm of growls and snarls. But he stood aside. Lal's eyes lingered on him for a moment before she crouched over Calo. Their eyes locked on each other, and she just stared at him for a moment.

Calo suddenly found himself sinking into the shadowy depths of her glare. Found himself submerged in a desperately cold night, as he had long ago, after he'd killed the only woman who had ever loved him.

"I can tell what you're thinking, little man," Lal said softly.

Myanna. He hadn't wanted to kill her.

"I can see it in your eyes…"

But he'd been given no choice.

"And you're welcome to your vengeance…"

She had loved him, raised him, taught him.

"But you should know one thing…"

And in return, he'd crushed the life from her throat in the dark.

"Everything has a consequence…"

But she stood between him and his freedom. She owned him. Her family owned him. And that night, he'd decided that his freedom was worth her life. Worth the blood.

"Just be certain you're willing…and able…to pay the price when it comes due."

Calo blinked his eyes, dismissing his dear Myanna from his thoughts. And he nodded once at Lal, making a silent promise inside his skull. "I…I'll k-keep that in m-mind, Sideen…"

* * *

"You're quite free to go," Lal told the Zaalbar, who whuffed experimentally at her after they were alone. She shook her head and holstered her blasters. "I can understand you well enough, Carpet."

He cocked his head in surprise and stared curiously at her. As he watched her, he realized that she was the reason for the stillness of the air; that same stillness that accompanied the predators who made the smaller animals afraid. He had seen how she had killed; made it into a dance of blood and fire. But, even if he had not just watched her kill those pig-faces, he would know her for a killer. She had the eyes of a Katarn, cold…merciless in their appetites.

And yet, he owed this killer his life. More than that, because she had saved his life when she hadn't needed to do so. In fact, it could have gotten her killed had she been a whit slower than the short human. He couldn't understand why she would do that. She was no Wookiee. She was a smooth-skin. Why would she care?

"Would you just go away?" she groaned when he asked her. But he shook his head and demanded an answer. "If you must know, I only kill the helpless when I'm specifically paid to do so. In this case…I wasn't. It's that simple. So I didn't do you any favors."

He narrowed his eyes and nodded solemnly. That meant she lived by a code. He could understand this thing…a code of honor. Maybe she wasn't a killer after all. Maybe she was a warrior. Maybe this was her Shadowland…

He stepped in front of her, and roared forth his name, and the name of his father, and his ancestors.

She shook her head and scowled. "I don't care what your name is…"

And he continued his Howl of Lineage, declaring his deeds, his right to bear the title of warrior. And her eyes widened as she began to understand what he was doing.

"Now hold on just a bloody minute…"

And he ended his howl with an Oath-Cry. Then, he bowed his head to her. In the end, he had no choice. As a Madclaw, wandering this alien Shadowland, all he had was his honor. He could not ignore it.

"You don't owe me anything, Wookiee…Zaalbar…whatever. Go away before the Vulkars come looking for their friends." She threw her hands up and started walking away from him.

He leaned his head to the side in disbelief. Of course, she was no Wookiee, so she couldn't possibly understand the honor he'd just paid her. But still…

Humans were so uncivilized. But it had no bearing on his honor, or the duty that now lay before him; his Lifedebt to her.

So he followed after her.


End file.
